


World War III

by Tammaiya



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: M/M, Nagi POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-12-25
Updated: 2004-12-25
Packaged: 2018-08-11 09:11:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7885162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tammaiya/pseuds/Tammaiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crawford is pissed off, Schuldig is obnoxious, Farfarello doesn't really care and poor Nagi gets caught in the cross-fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	World War III

As far as Nagi was aware, it was a perfectly normal morning. There were no missions in the near future, and Crawford hadn't had any premonitions recently, so there shouldn't have been anything out of the ordinary.  
  
He must have been missing something, however, because when he went into the kitchen for breakfast, the air was permeated by an inexplicable atmosphere of tension-- Crawford was sitting at the table with the paper and a cup of coffee, as per usual, but Schuldig was leaning against the bench glaring at the back of his head. It was hard to pick, but if you knew Crawford, you could tell from the set of his shoulders that Schuldig was getting to him.  
  
What was stranger, though, was the fact that Schuldig was even awake; he was by no stretch of the definition a morning person, and unless he had to be up for some reason, the only way you'd see him before midday was if he hadn't been to bed in the first place. He did stay awake all night on occasion. It was generally an indication that he was in a particularly foul mood.  
  
So. Presumably Crawford and Schuldig had had yet another fight after Nagi had gone to bed last night, and it was going to be one of those days where Schuldig felt the misanthropic need to inflict his bad mood on everybody else.  
  
Just fucking wonderful.  
  
"Oi, brat," Schuldig snapped sullenly, "what the hell are you looking at?"  
  
Nagi realised he had been staring at Schuldig and hurriedly looked away. "Nothing," he muttered, ignoring Schuldig's derisive snort as he started preparing rice for his breakfast. "What's your problem today, anyway?"  
  
"Who says I have one? Maybe I just don't like you," Schuldig said nastily, and pushed off the bench to get himself a cup of coffee.  
  
"Schuldig," Crawford growled, "stop antagonising Nagi."  
  
There was a split second where everything froze and Nagi forgot to breathe. Oh god, he thought, it's all going to blow up.  
  
"Don't tell me what to fucking do," Schuldig said calmly. _Too_ calmly, Nagi realised, and wished fervently there were some way he could leave the room and escape the crossfire.  
  
"I think you'll find that as your leader, that's my right," Crawford replied evenly, tone carrying the same hint of steel as Schuldig's had. "It's about time you learned that."  
  
Nagi winced. World War III: ten seconds and counting. Three, two, one--  
  
 _Thump_ , Schuldig slammed his hands flat on the kitchen table and the sound made Nagi jump. "Maybe I'm fucking well sick of you being my leader, asshole, have you ever thought of that?"  
  
Crawford's hands tightened on the cup of coffee he still held. If he had less self-control, he probably would have banged it down on the table and spilled hot liquid on his hands and suit.  
  
While he was no precog, Nagi suspected that by the end of the fight there would be coffee everywhere and a smashed mug on the floor from when Crawford snapped and threw it at Schuldig.  
  
"Maybe you need to learn that not everything in the world is about you, Schuldig," Crawford replied dangerously. The tension in the room was starting to become suffocating, and Nagi almost wished that they would just start yelling and relieve him from the air of anticipation before he went crazy.  
  
Schuldig sneered, Crawford stood up-- it's about to start, Nagi though dizzily, looking longingly at the door-- and Farfarello entered the room, expression bored and indifferent as the crackling tension melted away in his wake like Moses parting the Red Sea.  
  
He probably wouldn't be overly thrilled by that comparison.  
  
Farf stopped in front of Schuldig and stopped, staring at him unnervingly. "What do you want, you lunatic?" Schuldig snapped.  
  
"You're standing in front of the cupboard," Farfarello said calmly.  
  
For a moment, Nagi thought Schuldig would refuse to move and would pick a fight with Farf to make up for the aborted argument with Crawford; he was even more sarcastic and abrasive than usual, which-- given that this was Schuldig-- was saying quite a lot.  
  
"Yeah, well, fuck you," Schuldig muttered sourly, and stalked across the kitchen to collapse moodily into one of the chairs, straddling it backwards and glowering from beneath his hair (though whether at Farfarello or Crawford was difficult to tell; they were both in Schuldig's line of sight.)  
  
"It would hurt God," Farfarello said thoughtfully, "a lot." He appeared to consider the idea briefly and perhaps seriously before glancing at Crawford and apparently losing interest. "Pass."  
  
Schuldig felt mildly insulted by this. "Oh, fuck off, you whack job. Why aren't you in your fucking straightjacket?"  
  
"Schuldig," Crawford said wearily, adjusting his glasses and clearly suffering the beginnings of a headache, "could you at least make some pretence at attempting to restrain your language?"  
  
"Get fucked," was Schuldig's sparklingly witty response, and Nagi couldn't suppress a slight giggle at the irony of that. Crawford twitched slightly, probably conquering the urge to clench his fists tighter and crumple his newspaper through sheer willpower, and Schuldig smirked with dark satisfaction.  
  
Farfarello ignored them all, probably off in some universe of his own.  
  
"Schuldig, would you please pass the milk?" Crawford should have known better. He should have asked Nagi, who would have done as requested without comment. Then again, it wasn't a question of Crawford knowing-- Crawford sometimes knew everything, Nagi felt. It was a question of dominance and stupid male pride, and when it came down to it Crawford was just as stubborn as Schuldig at his worst.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I told you to."  
  
"So?"  
  
"Schuldig…"   
  
A warning. The tension was building again; Nagi could almost sense it physically. See it, perhaps, feel it, hear an electric buzzing background hum that was threatening to rise to a deafening crescendo.  
  
Crawford glared, and Schuldig glared back with an insolent and mocking tilt to his head. It was almost as if the argument were already taking place somewhere it couldn't be heard, but Nagi knew enough about Schuldig to be able to tell that he wasn't using his telepathy. Besides, Crawford had strong shields-- Schuldig often complained that he couldn't pick up anything he wasn't meant to see. With Crawford as pissy as he currently was, he would probably be inclined to push Schuldig out of his head entirely.  
  
Nagi had the sudden depressing thought that this could go on forever and ever eternal, the precog and the telepath trying to stare each other down in a never-ending battle of wills.  
  
What a horrible idea.  
  
Coming to an immediate decision, Nagi got up and handed the milk to Crawford himself. Crawford looked mildly irritated that he had essentially just lost the struggle with Schuldig over a technicality, and Nagi felt slightly bad, but really-- this was _Schuldig_. Making Schuldig do something he didn't want to do while he was in this mood was like trying to stop the bullet train by standing in front of it waving your arms: futile and life-threatening.  
  
Breakfast carried on in much the same manner and Nagi grew more and more uncomfortable as the tension continued to rise, Schuldig making progressively snarkier comments and Crawford rapidly approaching his limit of how much he was willing to put up with. Days like this had been becoming more and more frequent recently, and quite frankly Nagi was getting sick of walking on eggshells and waiting for everything to explode, as it always inevitably did.   
  
He didn't understand why Schuldig kept pushing Crawford so much. Crawford was the only leader Schuldig would accept; for all his jibes about Crawford not having any control over him, he usually would follow orders, at least in a mission situation. Schuldig respected Crawford, Nagi thought. Well, as much as he respected anyone. In Nagi's opinion, it sometimes seemed that being insulting was how Schuldig expressed loyalty and friendship. Sometimes he was just being insulting, obviously, but there was a difference. For example, insulting Weiss? Malice. Insulting Schwarz? Possible affection. Usually.  
  
"Hey, it's not _my_ fault you've got an iron rod rammed so far up your fucking arse you can't breathe."  
  
Nagi revised that last thought he'd had, and tried to decide if this was a case of _extreme_ affection (very warped extreme affection? Maybe?) or if Schuldig had crossed the line over into malice. Perhaps a combination of the two.  
  
Then again, maybe Schuldig was just incredibly pissed off about something, which was another thing again.  
  
"Right," Crawford said grimly, and folded his newspaper up viciously before slapping it down on the table with slightly more force than strictly necessary. It was interesting, Nagi reflected, that you could tell that this was the exact moment that Crawford snapped. "Nagi, would you and Farfarello please go upstairs? Farfarello can help you with your homework."  
  
Nagi doubted that, actually. Farfarello was good when it came to English and useful (if dangerous) for anything involving religion or philosophy, but when it came to maths he was hopeless. Schuldig would help occasionally, when he was in the mood-- he was good at maths, much to Nagi's surprise-- but obviously he wasn't available right now.  
  
Besides, Nagi wasn't really being sent away to finish his homework. He was being sent away because Crawford didn't want him or Farfarello there when the yelling started, for which he was deeply grateful.  
  
Upstairs, there was silence for a few minutes before the voices from below began to increase in volume. Though he wasn't quite sure if he wanted to know, Nagi began listening in out of morbid curiosity.  
  
"…I'm sick of … _attitude_!"  
  
"… _Fuck you_ … sick of… treated…!"  
  
"I don't… what… you _want_ …"  
  
"Then… fucking _idiot_ …"  
  
This was getting frustrating. Nagi was starting to wish that he were a telepath like Schuldig so he could get some kind of clue about what was going on instead of meaningless snippets of conversation.  
  
"Sexual tension hurts--"  
  
Great, here we go again.  
  
"--my ears."  
  
Nagi blinked. "What, not God?"  
  
Farfarello shrugged. "It probably hurts God too," he conceded. "But my ears are more important."  
  
Right.  
  
… Wait.  
  
"What do you mean, sexual tension?"  
  
Farfarello stared at him blandly. "You hadn't noticed?"  
  
Maybe, Nagi thought, he'd actually been right about the very twisted extreme affection after all. It explained the growing frequency of the fights, now that he considered it, as well as the constant humming air of tension.  
  
"Great," he sighed. "This could last forever."  
  
Downstairs, there was a crashing noise-- probably china shattering-- followed by a loud thump that sounded suspiciously like someone being shoved against a wall.  
  
"This time… pushed… _too far_ …"  
  
"Let go… fucking _bastard_ … arms hurt…"  
  
"Maybe," Farfarello said evenly. "Or maybe they'll kill each other."  
  
Nagi cringed. "Thank you, Farf. I really needed to hear that."  
  
There were a few more thumps of varying volume, which worried Nagi, and then silence, which worried him even more.  
  
"Do you think we should go down and check on them?" Nagi asked nervously.  
  
Farfarello considered this. "No," he said firmly.  
  
Nagi was about to argue that they should check if they needed to call an ambulance or something when the sounds started up again. This time, however, they didn't sound quite so… so…  
  
"… do that again… _Brad_ …"  
  
Um. Painful?  
  
Nagi turned a rather brilliant shade of crimson and was all at once very glad they hadn't gone down to check after all. It would have been a very bad idea, retrospectively.  
  
"Did you still want to see if they're okay?" Farfarello asked mildly.  
  
" _No_!" Nagi exclaimed fervently, and buried his burning face in his hands. "I'm too young to hear this!"  
  
Farfarello shrugged again. "Cover your ears, then, not your eyes. You might want to invest in a pair of earmuffs in the future."  
  
Oh God. The future. Was this going to happen every time they had a fight? Was this going to happen _instead_ of them having fights?  
  
Maybe World War III had been preferable after all. 


End file.
